


Favorite Mistake

by GoldenJezebel



Series: TURN Ships [3]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Hair Braiding, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenJezebel/pseuds/GoldenJezebel
Summary: Believing they were about to die, Anna helped Ben lose his virginity. Only theydidn’tdie. Now, they have to suffer the awkward consequences of sleeping with a friend…and wanting to do it again.Sexual content warning.
Relationships: Anna Strong/Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster & Benjamin Tallmadge, Selah Strong & Benjamin Tallmadge
Series: TURN Ships [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079708
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Desperation

“There are too many of them.” Peering out through the window of their room, Ben leaned his weight against the wall and appraised the shouting, torch and lantern-bearing patriots. “Even if I injured a few of the armed ones, there would still be too many to contend with.”

Wide-eyed, Anna lifted her skirts and came rushing over to join him, her brow knitting once she stooped to survey the scene. Outside of the manor, a group of at least twenty-five angry, booze-bolstered farmers were demanding satisfaction.

“We can’t hurt our own,” she agreed. “Only…”

“Only, they don’t realize we _are_ their own,” Ben muttered.

It wouldn’t benefit them at all, were they to give up the ruse they’d been enacting for the past week. While Caleb and Abe kept things (mostly) running smoothly for the ring, Ben and Anna had gone to Philadelphia to pose as a loyalist husband and wife to glean intel. While rubbing elbows with the elite, they’d been invited to stay on as guests with a Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop, and thus far, everything had gone surprisingly well.

Until now.

“We should be safe, don’t you think?” Anna asked, frowning. “We’re not anyone of import…we may be _posing_ as the wealthy, but we’re not actually-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Regardless of who they came for, everyone in this manor will be tarred and feathered, or _worse.”_

Anna scoffed. “What could be worse than that?”

He appraised her with a meaningful glance, and she flushed in horror at the thought of someone’s dirty, pawing hands tearing at her gown. 

Ashamed on her behalf, Ben lowered his eyes and had a seat on their shared bed – or rather, shared in the sense that they slept in shifts. It had been surprisingly easy to occupy a room with Anna Strong, because both were so comfortable with the other that they hadn’t given it a second thought. While Anna slept, Ben would write up their reports for Washington, and then while _he_ slept, Anna would draw up correspondence for Caleb or Abe to aid in their latest efforts. But now, sitting there with the pending disaster nipping at their heels, Ben was suddenly reminded of what he didn’t have – of what he’d _never_ had.

“I’ll take some brandy from that decanter, if you wouldn’t mind,” he murmured.

Anna shot him a disapproving look, then turned to fetch him a glass from the tray. “You really shouldn’t be getting all muddled,” she said. Nevertheless, she poured them both a couple fingers’ worth and moved over to his side. Frowning, she extended his glass. “I presume you have a plan?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, _surely_ you wouldn’t be getting all foxed unless you had _complete_ _confidence_ in where this night was going,” she spat.

Ben ignored her vitriol and knocked back his glass of brandy, grimacing at the sharp, pleasant warmth burning down his throat. “There _is_ no plan,” he finally said. “All we can do is sit here and wait. If they manage to break into the manor, _then_ we will have to think on our feet.”

With a scoff, Anna swallowed her own brandy before making a face, both at the tartness and Ben’s ridiculous logic. “You know, for being the head of intelligence, I’m not really finding much of the latter in your statement,” she grumbled. Setting her glass onto a table, she moved back over and sat alongside him on the bed, her thigh pressing into his as he rolled his thumb over the chilled, finely cut grooves in his glass. The headiness of the alcohol coupled with the sweet, perfumed warmth of her body made him shiver.

Ben managed to compose himself long enough to reply, “I suppose I’m just being selfish. When faced with death, our minds go to what we’ve never achieved…what we never _had.”_

Anna’s eyes widened. “You truly think we’re going to _die?”_

Ben shrugged. “It’s possible. There are at least twenty-five of them, and only two of us. I can hardly count our hosts, seeing how Mr. Winthrop wouldn’t know a long rifle from his own arse.”

Despite the peril of their situation, Anna grinned. “Right. I suppose I see your point.” Smile fading, she asked, “What sort of things are you thinking of? About not getting to achieve, I mean.”

A healthy, ruddy flush nipped at Ben’s cheeks and he curled his shoulders, suddenly unable to meet with her eyes. “Plenty of things,” he mumbled.

“Such as?”

“I am a reverend’s son,” he spat, finally turning his head to nail her in place with his sharp, unwavering gaze. “Do I truly need to spell out the nature of my shortcomings?”

“Oh…” No. He most certainly did _not._ Embarrassed for him (and perhaps also herself), Anna found herself wishing she hadn’t been so quick to drain her glass. Discomfited, she smoothed her hands along her skirts, then glanced over at him again. “Well, as your friend, I could…? I-I mean, _we_ could…?”

“We could what?”

Anna sighed, aggravated. “Make the most of a terrible situation… _aid_ in giving you what you’ve never had.”

Ben gaped back at her, his look of recognition both comical and endearing as a soft, disbelieving squint overtook his eyes. “But why would you…?”

“Because it would be my last night too, in case you’re forgetting,” Anna said, “and who better to lie with than a good friend? A _best_ friend?”

Ben’s mouth dropped as he struggled to form a coherent response. “I don’t think… I-I mean…”

“Do you truly wish to die untouched? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and yet clearly, this is bothering you. Otherwise, you never would’ve brought it up.” Leaning over, Anna plucked the glass from his fingertips, then set it onto the nightstand with purpose. “Allow me to help.”

Ben drew a breath. “Anna, I would never ask that of you. This isn’t-”

“I _want_ to,” she assured him. “You’re a good man, and an even better friend, and I would be remiss if I didn’t at least _try_ and give you the one thing you want. Most especially when it’s in my power to do so.”

Ben’s gaze was wide, anxious, _uncertain,_ and Anna cupped his face before drawing the warm slant of his mouth over hers. His breath caught between their lips, and he melted into her touch, his hands shakily knotting through her hair before he kissed her back with years’ worth of pent-up repression and need. She staggered into him, startled by his vigor, and unable to help it, a soft moan caught in her throat when he licked at her mouth.

_He certainly didn’t kiss like a virgin._

Parting their lips to dot several warm, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, Anna reveled in the soft, hitching breaths Ben made each time she licked and nipped at his skin.

“Anna…” His eyes closed, and he panted as she lifted to nuzzle into his cheek. Their lips slid together in an urgent, messy kiss, and he fumblingly grasped at her waist, dragging her up until she straddled his lap. Her fingertips snagged through his hair and unwound the ribbon from his braid, causing a sharp, pleasurable prickling along his scalp as she sucked his bottom lip.

Trying not to appear too eager, Ben dizzily allowed her to push him onto the bed, and his brow creased when Anna nudged her hips down into his swollen cock. Biting back a gasp, he dug his fingers into her waist and pitched his head back with a deep, shuddering groan. _“Fuck.”_

“Language,” Anna admonished, sneering. “I don’t think your father would approve.”

Far too overwhelmed to respond, he drew a shaking breath and pointedly rubbed himself between her open thighs. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t, it was _wrong,_ and with the recollection of how as a teen, he’d occasionally masturbated to thoughts of Anna in her flimsy little chemise, their debauchery somehow struck him as all the more arousing. She didn’t know – God willing, she would _never_ know – and helpless, he pulled down on her waist to aid in the firm grinding of their hips. His cock grazed over her clit, and Anna made a soft, mewling sound that rolled through him in a pleasurable shiver.

They could hear shouts from outside, followed by the sound of something banging against the front door – a battering ram? – but neither moved from their desperate rutting. Their fingers intertwined, and while rubbing herself off against the firm, rigid bump of him, Anna sought Ben’s gaze and leaned down to kiss him. He eagerly opened his mouth beneath her ministrations, and he lapped at her while forcing their hips into a harsh, deliberate grind. It was all instinct when he moved – all _sensation,_ and with a groan, he sucked on her tongue and tried rolling her over underneath him.

Amused, Anna laughed into their kiss. With a hand splaying across his chest, she easily kept herself from being pushed onto her back. “I don’t think so, Major,” she whispered, biting his lip.

Ben’s brow creased in confusion. Although inexperienced, he had been _so sure_ he was doing this right. Following her when she sat up, he blinked in growing bafflement as Anna lifted her skirts and reclaimed her spot in his lap. She settled down over his clothed cock, rolling her waist, and Ben nearly collapsed whenever she drew her lips to his neck and bucked into his leaking hardness.

“Anna,” he pleaded. By now, most of Ben’s hair had loosened from his braid and came spilling down over his shoulders, his mouth grazing her lips as she whispered her hushed assurances.

“Shh,” she soothed him. “Just relax. I’m going to take you inside me.”

He closed his eyes and shuddered, holding still as she unfastened his fall flap and guided him between her legs. His mouth dropped and he gave a soft, needy groan as Anna soaked him with her arousal, then eased herself down around his throbbing hardness with a low, satisfied shiver. A commotion started up outside the manor, and just in time to drown out Ben’s lustful shout whenever he found himself surrounded by hot, wet and _tight._ Anna was not shy in her efforts. She didn’t bother to ease him into it – rather, she drew him deeper inside her warmth and rocked her hips a moment, testing the feel of him as her insides spasmed wetly. Her breasts trembled with breath, and then after hooking her fingers through his loose hair, she firmly _yanked_ and began to ride him. Ben yelped at the sting across his scalp, yet felt a responding throb from his cock. The pain had felt _good,_ sobering, and fumbling at her waist, he attempted to fuck up into her warmth as she bounced in his lap.

Forehead to forehead, they held one another tightly. Anna gasped for breath as his cock stroked maddeningly at her insides, and her hands cupped his face while their lips brushed and teased with the slightest kiss. Ben tried to urge up into her giving mouth, but she was more intent on satisfaction than tender affection. Whimpering when he jerked up against her just right, she squeezed his hips between her knees and pumped and rolled her waist, moaning with several soft, fitful gasps as he pounded strenuously between her walls. There was something manic and desperate about their movements. Ben collapsed onto his elbows and thrust between her thighs, his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth gritting as his cock began to pulse.

“Anna,” he choked, “A-Anna, I can’t…I-I’m not…” Jaw clenching, he breathed a string of curses and thrust once, twice, before his hips stuttered and he came inside her with a harsh, full-body shudder.

Anna gripped his shoulders and rode out his orgasm, her loosened curls falling into her eyes before she reached down and rubbed at her bud with a desperate, manic circling motion. At long last, she spasmed around his softening cock and cried out, her head tipping back before she wilted against him with a sharp, enfeebled gasp.

They laid there like that for a long time, only the sound of their soft, labored breathing and the commotion outside filling the room.

As with most instances, Anna was the first to recover. Ben reached for her, but she awkwardly disengaged and rolled off to the side, ignoring how it was _his_ hand on her arm, and _his_ cum drying between her thighs as he beseechingly sought her gaze.

“Anna,” he gently spoke, his eyes earnest and pleading, “thank you… If we are truly to die on this night, I just want you to know that-”

The door banged open then and both Ben and Anna jumped, crying out when Mr. Winthrop burst in through the door.

He was a gray-haired, portly man in his sixties, and despite the flush of anxiety on his face, he couldn’t help but laugh whenever he realized their state of indecency. “Oh, goodness…my apologies! Didn’t realize you were acting out a _battering ram_ of your own,” he quipped, winking.

Disgusted, Anna curled into Ben’s side and drew her arms across herself. Her body wasn’t on display due to her gown, and yet she felt dirty, _seen_ by the leering loyalist.

Ben, too, seemed protective since he drew her in behind him. “The patriots outside,” he demanded, “what has happened?”

“Oh! Right!” Mr. Winthrop exclaimed, laughing again. “My, my, such a relief! The constable and his men have arrived to drive out those damned rebel bastards, so we are all saved!”

All at once, it felt as though the blood had drained from Anna’s face. She gripped at Ben’s arm and swallowed.

They were going to live?

 _They were going to live._ And she’d just willingly fucked one of her best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never really attempted a multi-chap fic on here before (not beyond a couple chapters of debauchery, anyway), so we'll see how this goes! I'm oddly excited about writing this, and I'm amazed I never considered a plot bunny like this until now. I'll add characters and smut tags as they arise. Hope you all enjoyed!


	2. Another Lapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben confronts Anna. **Sexual content warning.**

Ben stared down at his latest report for Washington, seeing without truly processing as he tried his best to focus. But he couldn’t – not with the memory of Anna hovering over him, rosy-cheeked and gasping as she sank down onto his cock as though she enjoyed it…as though she’d _thought_ of sleeping with him long before that moment.

 _Had_ she? He’d certainly thought of her on occasion… Though Ben supposed that was natural, what with him having grown up with an attractive, desirable friend. Abe and Caleb had certainly been drawn to her, too.

“Oi! What gives, you ol’ bastard?”

With a jerk, Ben accidentally struck his inkwell and sent a spill of black spatter across his parchment. Swearing, he futilely lifted the paper and appraised the words, only to confirm that yes, he _did_ need to rewrite his already distracted, piss-poor account of their last night together. _Goddammit._

Clapping a hand down onto his shoulder, Caleb demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ben felt a spike in his temperature. “I…I-I’m sorry?”

 _“Why_ did I have to learn from Annie about what happened?”

Wall-eyed, he turned in his seat and appraised his friend incredulously. “She _told_ you?”

Caleb scoffed. “Of course she did, you dandy prat! Sure as hell would’ve been nice if _you_ could’ve mentioned you’d nearly died too, seeing how much we’ve been through together. But apparently, that means nothin’ when you’re out on such big, fancy detail.”

“Oh…” Relief settled in Ben’s stomach and he exhaled, turning back toward his parchment. “Yes, well…I didn’t think it was important.”

Caleb snorted. “You nearly dying isn’t _important?_ Well, I’d say those men out there would feel a bit differently, wouldn’t you?”

Ben sighed, exasperated. “Is there a _reason_ for this antagonization? I’m busy, Caleb, and Washington will be in need of my full report before sundown.”

“Oh, well _pardon me,_ Your Highness. Forgive me for giving two shites about your well-being.”

With a wince, Ben set aside his quill and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Truly. I’ve been under an ungodly amount of stress lately, and I know it’s no excuse, but…I _am_ sorry. I haven’t been a very good friend.”

Caleb pursed his mouth, his dark eyes twinkling as he pretended to mull it over. “Aye,” he hummed, “you _are_ right about that…but you know how you can make it up to me, don’tcha?” Punching the other man on the shoulder, he cajoled, “We can go into town and find us some lasses. Or rather, _I_ will find some lasses, and _you_ can keep watch. I might save you one for later.”

With a great guffaw, Caleb spared Ben another playful punch, but all the latter could do was grimace.

“Caleb, you _know_ I won’t be doing that.”

He snorted. “Ah, right. ‘Mr. Pissy and Pious’ wouldn’t _dare_ stick his cock into anything but his fist prior to marriage! I forgot.”

Face aflame, Ben hunched his shoulders and turned away.

“What? Nothin’ to say to that?”

“I told you, I am _busy.”_

Seemingly won over by his excuse, Caleb jostled Ben’s shoulder and agreed, “All right, fine, ya looby. Just don’t blame _me_ if you have to fetch your mettle later on. They say nearly dying-”

“Causes me to have a short fuse? Yes, I’d say so,” Ben snapped, though not unkindly. There was a slight warmth to his eyes as he regarded the other man. “I’ll see you later, Caleb. Perhaps we can scrounge up some madeira.”

The whaler’s eyes lit up. “Oi, _now_ you’re talkin’. I’ll hold you to that, Tall-boy.” Fondly pressing the other man’s shoulder, he raised a finger in a salute of sorts, then headed out the tent flaps.

With a low, unsettled sigh, Ben turned back toward his papers and tried to focus on his report. 

* * *

With his report finally written up, Ben dropped it off, had a quick word with Washington, and then found himself traitorously heading toward Anna’s cart. It was only natural to want to check up on her, wasn’t it? After all, they _had_ almost died…

 _Or so they tried to convince themselves._ That was the only thing that made this – whatever _“this”_ was – okay.

Drawing in a deep, tremulous breath, Ben prepared to announce himself, but that was when Anna stumbled out and thudded into his chest.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands. Tottering a moment, she straightened before looking up at him with a curl of her lip. “What are you doing here?”

Ben frowned, disliking the sharp, discordant quality of her voice. She’d never been discomfited by him swinging by unannounced before…

Shrugging it off, he said, “I wanted to see how you were faring. Perhaps we could talk for a moment?”

A restless, uneasy look came over Anna’s eyes, and her mouth pursed into that combative, stubborn pout he’d grown to love-slash-loathe. “I don’t have time for a visit,” she warned. “If you want to talk, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

“Very well,” Ben agreed, “I’ll return sometime this evening.”

“No…” Looking to the side, Anna muttered, “I’ll be otherwise detained.”

“Doing what?”

“Laundry.”

A soft, disbelieving huff caught in Ben’s throat and he sneered. “I know for a God-given _fact_ that you haven’t done laundry ever since you were given this cart, Anna. If you’re trying to avoid me, I wish you would just come out and say it.”

Anna’s chin jutted, then with wordless acquiescence, she took a step back and turned to lead him into the cart. Ben followed without argument, his pulse quickening once she secured all the flaps behind them. It didn’t mean anything… _did_ it? Was she ashamed of him? Or did she wish to explore what was so thoroughly upon his mind?

“Get to the point,” she snapped, startling him to attention.

Ah. So evidently, she did _not_ hold their encounter in fond regard. Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, Ben feigned indifference as he replied, “As I’ve said, I wanted to see how you were.” He looked her over. “Are you all right?”

Rolling her eyes, Anna held out her arms with sarcastic fanfare. “Clearly, yes, Ben. I am in _tip-top_ shape. If that’s all you wanted-”

“No,” he cut in, his voice wobbly. Swallowing, Ben took a slight step forward, their eyes locking as he towered over her smaller frame. “I also wanted to know if you’ve…thought of me.” When she gaped at him in confusion, he lowly clarified, “About _us.”_

Anna’s brow creased and she laughed, incredulous. “With all due respect, Ben, our little lapse has _not_ been on my mind. Not in the slightest.”

“You’re lying,” he accused, stung. “If that were truly the case, you wouldn’t have been avoiding me.”

She shrugged. “Well, maybe I’ve been avoiding you to save you the embarrassment.”

His lip curled. “Embarrassment of _what?”_

“Of how inadequate you were.” Narrowing her eyes at him, she demanded, “Why are you so concerned, anyway? Just because it was your first time doesn’t mean-”

“It was special,” Ben cut in, his cheeks burning. “Perhaps it wasn’t special to you, but it _damn well_ meant something to me.”

Anna halted at that, shaken. But rather than give in to the soft, inexplicable flutter in her chest, she bit back, “What, so you think you’re in love with me now, is that it? Good God, men really _are_ ridiculous when it comes to sex, aren’t they?”

With a frustrated growl, Ben took hold of Anna’s shoulders and tugged her upright, causing her to gasp and stagger against the solidness of his chest. Her hands splayed across his waistcoat and she gaped at him, astonished when his fingers snagged through the dark, pinned-up locks of her bun. His eyes were stormy, _wild,_ and she tried to ignore the sudden throb between her thighs.

“Who are you trying to fool?” Ben demanded, his voice low. “I know you, Anna Strong, and you are _lying_ to me.” Breathing heavily, he kept his hand wound up in Anna’s hair, his eyes darting toward her lips before slowly lifting to her eyes again. Her breasts rose and fell fitfully beneath her stays, and already, he could feel a pang beneath his breeches as his cock began to harden. “If you regret what happened between us, fine, but do _not_ insult my pride just because you feel guilty.”

“Know your place,” Anna warned him. Her tone was sharp and acidic, but her grip on his clothing softened, almost acquiescent as their eyes met. “I may feel guilty, but you’re completely _bird-witted_ if you think my feelings have anything to do with you and your…your _juvenile_ fumblings. I’ve had better adventures with my own hand.”

Having heard enough, Ben crashed his mouth into hers and devoured her snide, cruel incitements, a thread of satisfaction needling through him once Anna tugged on his hair and whined. When their tongues glossed, wet and full of need, he withdrew long enough to appraise her with visible scorn.

“If my prowess is so _juvenile,_ why are you trembling?” he demanded, his breath rushing white-hot against her lips.

Anna laughed into their kiss, her eyes half-mast and her mouth shiny and parted. “It’s chilly this morning, Ben. You give your abilities too much credence.”

That did it. Sick of her cruelty – sick of her _lies_ – Ben reached behind him and yanked the ribbon free from his braid. His locks slowly unspooled, and defiant, he wrapped his free hand around her throat before backing her up toward her bed.

Anna’s eyes were wide and stunned, though she didn’t resist. If anything, she was curious as to what this _new_ Ben was like – of where he’d been hiding amidst his awkward, almost painful shyness. The backs of her legs bumped into the mattress and she cried out, falling atop her bed while Ben moved astride her.

Never letting up in his movements, Ben wrapped his hair ribbon around her wrist, then pointedly secured it to one of her bedposts.

Anna’s eyes widened. “Ben? Ben, what are you doing?”

Ignoring her, he shrugged out of his officer jacket and unfastened his waistcoat, then rid himself of both garments before turning his attention to his shirt. Seizing the hem, he swept the clothing over his head in a blur of haste. Fumblingly, he then wrapped his shirt around her other wrist before fastening it to the opposite bedpost, leaving Anna wide-eyed and helpless and completely at his mercy.

“There,” he whispered, lightly brushing his fingertips beneath her chin. “Perhaps _now_ you will take me more seriously.”

Anna scoffed, her brows drawing inward. “How?” she fired back. “What is this even supposed to prove?”

“That you want me.”

She grinned, her eyes dancing with disdain. “Oh, _please,”_ she spat. “If you think _this_ is the slightest bit titillating, you’re wrong.”

Ben’s expression hardened, and pointedly, he began rolling her skirts up over her legs. He felt her skin shiver beneath his palms, but chose not to remark on it as he raised her shift and exposed her to his wandering, surprisingly assured touch. That was when he slid a hand between her legs. Slow and purposeful, he curved his fingers and stroked along her entrance, instantly becoming satisfied once a gush of warm, sodden slick coated his fingertips.

“Not titillating?” Ben asked, holding up his shiny fingers for her perusal.

Anna flushed and bit her lip. “It’s a completely natural response. That doesn’t mean I _like_ what’s happening.”

Unruffled, Ben returned his hand to the warm, shivering slat between her legs and rubbed, fascinated when her breath hitched and her hips arched, seeking the pleasure of his stroking fingertips. “You’re aching for it,” he whispered, feeling her throb and twitch around him as he plunged deep inside her to the knuckles. He stroked his fingers against her silken insides, thrusting them with purpose and mimicking what he’d done only days prior. Anna shuddered and tugged on her restraints, her thighs shaking as he finger-fucked her at a steady rhythm.

“You… _ah…_ you’re bottle-headed,” Anna choked out, her eyes fluttering closed when he stroked her just right. To her surprise, Ben responded by using his other hand to rapidly rub her clit. Her eyes flew open again and she gasped, unable to keep a moan from spilling past her lips. How the _hell_ did he know how to do that?

Pleased by her response, Ben circled her bud more aggressively, recalling how Anna had done this to climax at Winthrop manor. Surely if he kept rubbing her, she would do the same now? Unbeknownst to Anna, he had always been ardent in his studies, and the art of lovemaking was now at the top of his current list of fascinations.

While Ben flexed and twisted his fingers between her walls, he observed her reactions – the way her back arched and her insides spasmed, and her mouth dropped as she tried to bite back another soft, needy cry.

“Don’t do that,” Ben warned, his blue eyes heavy with lust. “I want to hear you, Anna.”

Bewildered, she moved to give a vicious retort, but the words died on her tongue when he lowered between her legs and licked her clit. The sudden shift startled her, and enflamed, she whimpered when he did it again, his hand sliding free so that he could replace his fingers with his tongue.

Overwhelmed by the sight of him devouring her, Anna breathed a soft, helpless gasp as he pressed his face into her slit and lapped at her entrance, a groan of his own rumbling into her heat as he licked and sucked at her wetness. He seemed insatiable, _hungry_ for her, and sagging against the mattress, she released a sharp, ecstatic shout whenever his thumb returned to assaulting her bud. She was close…oh God, she could barely _breathe…_

Ben gave a low, approving hum into her slit, and then he was thrashing his tongue between her walls, his face angling into her wetness more aggressively as Anna pointed her chin toward the canvas ceiling and wailed. She hadn’t felt like this in so long – arguably, had _never_ felt like this – and it completely baffled her to think that sweet, virginal Ben had turned into such an ardent, not to mention _exceptional_ study.

Ben lifted his cum-slicked mouth and regarded her, licking away her essence as he moved his hand back between her legs and pumped his fingers without mercy. “I need you to cum, Anna,” he pleaded.

Defiant, Anna tugged on her restraints and twisted her body, almost as if she could somehow save face and ignore her clear need. But the moment his thumb rolled back over her clit, her calves cramped up and she cried out, her insides flexing and spasming around his thrusting fingers as she bit back a scream. “Fuck,” she swore instead, breathless.

“Language,” Ben jeered, throwing her earlier words back in her face.

Far too overwhelmed to snipe at him, Anna instead slumped against the bedding and shuddered, her thighs slowly unlocking from his waist as he lifted his hand and sucked his fingers into his mouth. The sight of him running his tongue over his fingertips, no matter how brief, caused Anna to throb and shiver. Her insides pulsed wetly as she came down from her orgasm, and her toes curled as she imagined how it would feel to cum around his cock again.

_Goddammit._

With a brightness in his eyes, Ben slunk up her frame before hovering over her, his long, golden strands of hair brushing her face before he held up his fingers, then pressed them down over her lips. “Open,” he hissed, and to his delight, Anna obeyed and he slid his soiled fingers into her mouth, his cock twitching in his breeches when the warm, wet tip of her tongue flicked over them. Sliding his fingers farther into her mouth, he watched her with fascination as she moaned and sucked her lingering essence from his skin, her eyes smoldering as they lifted to his face.

“Do you want to taste me too?” Ben asked, his voice soft and husky.

Anna gave a soft, muffled whine and sucked harder in response, causing a responding throb to pulse strongly between his legs. He wanted her, he _ached_ for her, and yet he somehow managed to withdraw his fingers as she made a sorry sound in her throat.

“All in due time,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I think I’ve proved my point here.”

Anna soured at his change of tone – of him _reminding_ her that he’d intentionally done this as a form of degradation – and pointedly, she tugged on her restraints. “If you’re done _humiliating_ me, I think we should address your own big problem.”

Ben flushed. Was she _actually_ referring to his…?

“Your hair,” she continued, startling him. “You can’t walk through camp like that, so please…” She indicated her hands again. “Untie me, and I can fix you up.”

Reaching upward, Ben felt along his disheveled locks and ascertained that yes, his hair had fallen _completely_ out of his queue, and walking through camp in an unkempt state would be inappropriate, not to mention unprofessional. It would be downright unseemly.

“Very well,” Ben agreed. Avoiding Anna’s gaze, he fell back into his shy persona as he unfastened the ribbon from her wrist. Balling it up into his hand, he then unwound his shirt and tugged it free of the bedpost, alleviating Anna from her bondage.

Rubbing her wrists, Anna slowly sat up and regarded him with bright, sated eyes. “Turn around,” she encouraged. When he sat and did as she asked, she raked her fingers through his hair, relieving his long, sandy locks from stray tangles.

Her touch was warm and featherlight, and in spite of himself, Ben found himself growing drowsy. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and sucked a breath, her touch sending unexpected shivers up his spine. When Anna drew his hair back and began weaving, one long strand at a time, he started lazily dragging his palm over his erection in slow, careful circles, his lashes fluttering when she pulled and sent a sharp tingle through his scalp. “Anna…”

“Hmm?” Even without looking at her, Ben could tell by her tone that she was pleased.

Swallowing, he shakily unfastened his fall flap and exposed his cock to his eager, calloused hand. Getting a firm grip on himself, he leaned into Anna’s touch and vigorously stroked and pulled on his hardness, his shoulders hunching as a low, throaty groan caught in his chest.

“Does that feel good?” Anna hummed, her tone smug as she brushed her lips against his ear.

Ben squeezed his eyes tightly closed and grimaced, clenching his teeth when her mouth grazed the curve of his neck.

“Tell me how much,” Anna whispered, her tongue darting out against his skin.

Squirming against her, Ben barely resisted when she reached down and plucked the ribbon from his taut fist. After securing his hair into a bow, she pressed against his back and slid her hands down over his bare chest, seeking and searching until she curled her fingers around his vigorously jerking hand.

“Let go,” she commanded.

Ben drew a sharp breath. At this rate, he didn’t think he _could_ stop, and as pre-cum leaked over his fingers, he gave a low growl and managed to halt the fierce, manic stroking of his hand.

Triumphant, Anna pushed his fingers away and curled her _own_ hand around his cock, her fingers much smaller, and her palm a bit rougher as she gradually built up her own rhythm.

Chest heaving fitfully, Ben’s head dropped back against her shoulder and he shuddered, her lips brushing his cheek as each stroke grew in momentum. Heavy-lidded and agape, he helplessly thrust through the tight ring of her fingers and groaned, his cheeks flushing a healthy pink as Anna pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Drugged on sensation, Ben turned his head and devoured her lips in a firm, needy kiss, her soft cry of surprise enflaming him as her hand worked him over in several rough, spirited pumps.

Breaking the kiss with a dizzying breath, Ben peered up into her eyes and swallowed. “Y-you feel so…s-so…”

 _“How_ do I feel?” Anna provoked, rolling her thumb over his tip. “As good as when you were inside me?”

That did it. In between her vigorous strokes and filthy, vulgar words, Ben’s posture ratcheted up, and then he came hard across the bedding with a deep, drawn-out shudder. His body tightened and then relaxed, his brow creasing when she kissed his forehead and passed him his shirt.

“Now that _that’s_ taken care of, I expect you to leave,” she said.

Ben blinked at her in bemusement. _Leave?_ Could Anna truly just _recover_ after what they’d done?

Swallowing, he decided to press his luck by asking, “B-but don’t you want to…? I mean…?”

“What? _Fuck_ again? No, thank you.”

Wide-eyed and embarrassed, Ben turned away from her and shakily tucked himself back inside his breeches. Once he’d secured the buttons, he slid back into his shirt and reached for his discarded waistcoat. Despite his efforts to shame Anna for her hurtful words, it would seem that _he_ was once more holding the short end of the stick.

Rising from her bed, Anna plucked Ben’s officer jacket from the ground, then held it out to him with a wry smile. “When I said I wasn’t interested in what happened between us, I meant it, Ben. What’s done is done. However, I _do_ thank you for what you did with your mouth. I can’t remember the last time a man’s even bothered.”

Pink-cheeked, Ben scowled at her before swiping his coat none too gently. “Glad to be of service,” he snapped. After threading his arms through the sleeves, he rose and bitterly added, “Perhaps next time, you won’t be so quick to scorn me.”

Anna laughed, bemused. _“Next_ time? You truly think-?”

“I do,” he hissed, turning on her in an instant. “Just because you’re too damned stubborn to acknowledge what is happening between us, doesn’t mean that _I_ am.”

A heady moment of tension throbbed between them, thick and all-consuming, before Ben squared his jaw and stormed for the exit. He ripped open one of the closed panels, then burst from her cart in a huff. Unfortunately, a tall, solid frame was there to block his escape.

“Selah!” Ben exclaimed, hating how his voice immediately kicked up an octave.

“Ben!” the older man cried in turn, beaming in that fond, world-weary way he’d always taken comfort in.

Only this time, Ben felt nothing but a sharp, hollow pressure in his chest whenever they embraced, the taste of Anna still lingering on his tongue as he swallowed back a guilted string of apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAS MY "BEN TALLMADGE HAIR KINK" SHOWING? Pretty sure we all have a smidge of that, but anyway... *coughs* Somehow, I feel like this took a turn, so I'm sorry? But a big thank you to thucydides_groupie for brainstorming with me, and thus leading to all these ideas. I may or may not write Ben having a thing for his code name (John Bolton) being shouted, so we shall see...and by that, I'm thinking most definitely, ahem. Anyway, thanks to all who've read! Hope you're still onboard with this pending train wreck!
> 
> 18th century slang:  
> dandy prat: insignificant or trifling fellow  
> looby: an awkward, ignorant fellow  
> fetch your mettle: masturbate  
> bird-witted: inconsiderate, thoughtless, easily imposed on  
> bottle-headed: devoid of wit


End file.
